‘Why do you want me to?’
‘You are new to Levaal. You have little time to learn about it before you will need the knowledge.’ She unslung her bow, set it down and sat with her back against a boulder, one knee raised, an arm resting on it. He did not avert his gaze from the part of her skirt that fell away and showed a smooth muscled column of thigh; in fact briefly he couldn’t avert it. Her other hand rested between her legs as though to protect modesty, though she remained in that pose, watching as he pulled his gaze away with some effort and headed up the path.
The area beneath was like a huge flat bowl scooped out of the basaltic hillside, in which taller shafts of rock had been raised and placed like buildings in a street. Milling around these were twenty or more men in drab robes. They had horns on their heads similar to those the war mages wore, but straighter, and pointing outwards rather than curling down. They looked decidedly more human, though all appeared to be tired, old men, so similar that each could’ve been the twin of any other. They shuffled around like sleepwalkers.
A group of them coalesced around a short pillar of rock. They stood murmuring for some time, then all moved their arms skywards. The rock piece jolted, and a crumbling sound carried up the canyon. With perfect synchronicity, the mages lowered and raised their arms, each time making the rock pillar rise further. At its base the rock seemed to flow like liquid. Soon they had its top level with the tallest around it, then they dispersed and shuffled away to a new location, to begin the process again. Some crouched down to rest, smoke trailing from the tips of their horns.
‘They are building a new city here.’ Siel’s voice made him jump. He’d not heard her approach, yet she was right behind him. ‘It’s all they do. They are nearly machines. Later they will hollow out the insides of the pillars, make buildings of them. In a year it will be ready for people to move in. It will be filled with those who swear to Vous, and it will be a place where life is easy, at first. Others will learn to worship him, so they too may live this way. It is why most Aligned cities accept starvation. People cling to their old ways so stubbornly.’
There were more of the stoneshaper mages below than he’d first seen. Many groups clustered further away, moving in and out of visibility between the raised pillars. ‘Are you sure we’re safe here?’
‘You were scared by the war mages, weren’t you?’ Her voice came from very close. ‘They won’t come here. War mages fear stoneshapers.’ Her hands slipped around his belly, under his shirt, and rubbed up his chest, cold to the touch. One began to seek its way below his belt line. He felt himself stir, but reached to halt her hand before it went further. She sighed, lips so close he felt her breath on his ear. ‘I’m not fit for a prince?’
‘You are more than fit for me. Whether I was a prince or not.’
‘Then it’s something else. What? Do you live forever, in your world?’
‘No.’
‘We could die before the day is out. In moments of rest, I like to remember I am alive.’
He turned to look at her, lower lip thrust out and eyes turned down, a pose of vulnerability he could scarcely believe; he knew she was a warrior, she looked like one, moved like one. She had probably killed people in battle. He felt a pang of guilt for his lie; was that the only reason she wanted him? He laughed. ‘To be honest, I was more concerned that I haven’t washed for a long time. I probably stink.’
‘Welcome to the road,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Is that all it is?’ Her eyes were still wide and doubtful, looking deep into his. He didn’t even decide to touch her — his fingertip just ran gently down the long knotted braid the way he’d wanted it to earlier, as though his hand had decided for itself. She didn’t smile, but the doubt was gone from her face as she quickly undid the thin knots of strapping about her shoulders and waist. The gown fell away in two parts, leaving her only in her boots, her breasts larger than shown by the flatness of the tunic, the nipples fat, wide and erect in the cold. Little goose bumps were across her skin. There was a wild nest of untamed hair between her legs. And he’d been wrong: a look wasn’t enough.
She tugged at his pants, examined what was beneath them with open curiosity, as though seeing if Otherworld men were built differently from those she knew. He took the holster off his hip, not caring suddenly whether she saw the gun or not. Her hand was clumsier on his cock than it had been on her bow, but that hardly mattered. She lay on her robe and opened her legs, pulling him down into the warm wet nest between them.
To him, it seemed at first like the act of animals in the wild, scratching an itch without emotion, and he realised this was because he hadn’t kissed her. He tried but for some reason she turned her head away; he tried again, and she denied him again, and a sudden burst of possessive anger flared in him. He held her face still and pressed his lips down on hers. Passively she opened her mouth for him to do as he liked. In that irrational moment, it was her fault he’d lied and was left to doubt himself. He squeezed hard on the underside of her thigh. It was firm and cool in his hand. He flung aside one of the woven braids from where it lay across her moving breasts and clutched her arms as though to pin them. Then when he came and lay panting on her, her eyes closed, he felt almost sick with shame.
The stoneshaper mages continued their work below, and occasionally came the grinding sound of rock being moulded. She didn’t say a word as she stood and dressed, her face still unreadable. He wanted some assurance he hadn’t hurt her or used her. He realised, suddenly, he had wanted that very thing in those fevered seconds: to hurt her. Why? He had never in his life wanted such a thing before. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She looked at him as though he’d said something totally incomprehensible. ‘What?’
‘I’m just a long way from home …’ he said, and shrugged helplessly.
‘Why are you sorry? Aren’t princes supposed to, with nobodies?’ She fixed her clothes more properly in place.
Nobodies. If I’m not a prince, am I a nobody? ‘No, it’s not that … I don’t know what it is. I wanted to hurt you, that’s all. And I don’t know why. I wish I hadn’t … hadn’t wanted that.’
‘You didn’t hurt me, whatever you really wanted.’ She turned away and reached for her bow. Then, hearing something Eric hadn’t, she rushed to the platform’s edge, overlooking the path, and gazed out over the stone ridge, her slender body as taut and tense as the bowstring she drew back, an arrow in place. ‘I told you death was close. If not here for us, here for them.’ She gave a nervous little laugh.
Eric went to look, but she waved him away. ‘Go back,’ she said. ‘Run. Tell Anfen that castle swordsmen are below, some in heavy armour. Too many to fight. Now the pass is blocked. We’ve camped here too long.’
22
It had been a long, bumpy ride for Case and he was losing hope Eric would be at the end of it. He needed badly to piss. The march had been going on for hours — how many, he couldn’t tell. To keep track he’d begun counting the trudging sound of metal boots like a second hand on a clock, before it occurred to him just how pointless that was.
The supplies cart rocked under him, its wheels squeaking. Two mules dragged it along at a slower pace than the soldiers nearby wanted. They had remarked the cart was a touch heavier than it should be and couldn’t work out why; early in the march, the whole patrol had stopped while they examined its wheels and axles. Case sat between stacked pouches of water, whose sloshing sound didn’t help him one little bit as the miles ticked by. He would’ve lain down to sleep, but every so often had to dodge hands that shot in as thirsty soldiers gobbed a mouthful.
The march had been far more formal and disciplined near the castle. As they moved away, the commander loosened the leash, and the troops ignored fancy formations and keeping their steps in time. Their helms came off; the march became a stroll through the countryside, with laughing and gossip. The scenery hadn’t been much to look at, in Case’s opinion. He didn’t mind that. He’d seen enough fancy wondrous things to last him his remaining years, or days more likely. A sand-coloured paved road, the clop of donkey hooves, the clank-clank of boots with rattling mail, pleasant meadows and rolling, hilly fields either side. That was fine by him.